Of Fingon and Maedhros
by HaloFin17
Summary: Pretty much the same events that Tolkien relates on Fingon's rescuing Maedhros from Thangorodrim, but in greater detail. No slash. Enjoy and feel free to review!


**Summary:** My take on Fingon's rescuing Maedhros from Thangorodrim. Not slash. Enjoy, and feel free to review!

**Disclaimer:** I certainly do not own any ofTolkien's brilliant characters or ideas.

**Of Fingon and Maedhros**

And so, at Maedhros' own urgings, Fingon slowly bent his bow toward the sable cliffs above and carefully took his aim through a vision blurred by tears. But before he let the arrow fly, Fingon lifted up a desperate prayer to Manwe:

"O King, to whom all birds are dear, speed now this feathered shaft and recall some pity for the Noldor in their need!"

At that moment, a piercing cry was heard far above the canopy of black clouds, slicing through the gloom like a knife. Then Fingon looked up and beheld Thorondor, King of the Eagles, swooping down toward him.

The great bird then lighted beside Fingolfin's son and comforted him, saying, "Would you slay your friend of old, brave Fingon, while hope for him yet lives? Take heart, now, and I shall bear you up to Feanor's eldest son that you may set him free."

Fingon hesitated only briefly before complying and mounting upon Thorondor's back with a renewed hope. The Eagle King beat the air with his powerful wings and ascended easily with his passenger to where Maedhros the Tall hung in anguish above the jagged mountain cliffs that jutted sharply up toward the lifeless sky.

When they met, the two kinsmen immediately embraced warmly, holding each other close for a long moment and crying the bitter tears of pain and sorrow. Yet not even the sight of the golden sun could have bestowed on them a greater joy. Maedhros at last broke the silence.

"I didn't forget you, Fingon," he said weakly through his tears.

"What do you mean?" Fingon asked as he gently pulled away from Maedhros' hold and gazed into his eyes.

"At the burning of the ships at Losgar. I wanted to send them back for you, I swear! Please forgive me, Fingon; I'm so sorry!"

At this, the hot tears of both Elves were freshly awoken as regretful memories of the past came looming back to haunt their minds and spirits. But the remorse of Feanor's son was genuine and, very much like his noble father, Fingon was ready to pardon.

"Oh, Maedhros," he sobbed, "Maedhros, I do forgive you! And now I've come to rescue you, release you from this torment."

"Thank you, my dear friend. Long ago, I heard the sound of trumpets as your father led his hosts through these lands. I cried out, but no one heard me. I thought then that all my hopes were ended, for not even my own brethren have dared the dangers of the North to come to my aid as you have."

Fingon smiled sadly. "What else could I have done? The thought of our old friendship stung my heart whenever I thought of you at the mercy of Morgoth's black will." He sighed. "But now I'm here at last, so let me get you out of this."

So saying, he drew his bright sword, reached up to the band of steel that held Maedhros' right hand firmly to the face of the cliff. The hand was curled into a tight fist due to the long pain it had known; and dark blood, both old and new, stained the entire arm, running down like sap from a tree in springtime. Fingon attempted to release the hated band from his friend's wrist but with no success. He then sought to sever the steel or draw it away from the rock, but it was all in vain.

"I can't get it free!" he at last lamented to his kinsman in despair.

"Nor will you ever," came Maedhros' helpless reply. "It is a hopeless task, Fingon. It was from the beginning. So now I beg you once again, slay me here and return to your homeland in safety while you still can."

"No!" Fingon exclaimed. "I could never live with a free conscience knowing that you had died by my sword."

"But you have no other choice," his friend pleaded earnestly. "Please do this Fingon! Every moment longer that you stay here only increases the chance of your being discovered and captured. Think of your father, your brother, and everyone else whom you hold dear. Do you wish for them suffer through the knowledge that you, too, were in the hands of our merciless Enemy? Can't you understand? I do not want to see you join me in this fate."

But Fingon shook his head. "No," he said again. "I cannot, and I will not! I will not have come this close to saving you only to kill you in the end."

"But you _will_ have saved me. Only end my sufferings and relieve my pain: that's all I ask of you, Fingon, if anything at all."

Fingon lowered his gaze in silence as Maedhros continued.

"Just don't leave me here alive. I'm sorry to ask this of you, but you know as well as I do that my hand cannot be freed."

There was a brief pause.

"Not freed whole, perhaps." Fingon finally lifted his eyes from his gleaming blade to again face his comrade directly. "Maedhros, there is a way. I can cut off your hand so that the rest of your body might go free once more. I know that won't end your pain in the least, but I will not kill you, either."

"And yet I may die anyway. I'm weak, Fingon, I cannot hope to conceal that. I may very well bleed to death from such a wound before we can come to a place of safety and rest."

"I won't let that happen, Maedhros. I promise I will do everything in my power to prevent it."

At last, Maedhros nodded in agreement, for there was nothing else he could do.

"All right," he said slowly, "go ahead, then."

And so, Fingon reached up once again toward the source of his friend's agony. With one hand, he grabbed a hold of Maedhros' right arm beneath the steel band, and in the other, he held his sword.

"This _is _the only way, Maedhros. I'm sorry."

But Maedhros only laughed bitterly, even amid his torment. "Don't be," he assured his loyal friend. "Pain is no stranger to me now, after all these years."

Then Fingon brought back his sword and, with one clean stroke, he cut off Maedhros' hand above the wrist. Hot blood came spurting out from the wound, streaming forth in crimson torrents, and Maedhros cried aloud as the fresh pain tore mercilessly into his arm. His senses all but numbed from pain and shock, he closed his eyes and leaned heavily against his companion.

Fingon, meanwhile, was struggling to bind up the bloody stump that had once been the hand of Maedhros. He managed to successfully wrap the wound in his own cloak but knew that the bleeding would not fully cease for quite some time. Then Thorondor, who had been silent throughout the entire affair, finally spoke to Fingon.

"To where would you have me bear you now, Valiant One?"

"Back to Hithlum, if you will take us there. And also, if you would, please stop at the first source of clean water that we come to."

"I will be glad to, son of Fingolfin."

"Thank you, mighty Thorondor." Fingon's thanks were truly from the depths of his heart, for he never could have rescued his friend of old from torment without the aid of the Eagle King.

But the Elven prince's next thoughts were only for his wounded kinsman. What water he had left, Fingon freely gave to his friend, and the soothing liquid somewhat revived Maedhros' spirits.

However, as Fingon had feared, it was several hours before they came to any water that was suitable for drinking. By this time, Maedhros was unconscious as he rested wearily against his friend, and his wound still oozed the life-blood of his veins. Fingon had his arm wrapped around his comrade's shoulders, holding him steady as they flew. At last, Thorondor landed by the stream he had spotted from afar and stood by in silence while Fingon tended Maedhros as best he could.

* * *

Returning to Hithlum undetected was far more difficult than departing, especially with the additional presence of a weak and wounded Maedhros, but Fingon did manage to surreptitiously bring both himself and his cousin to the spacious chambers that had been previously set aside for him in his father's house.

"What now?" Maedhros inquired wearily as Fingon helped him to the bed.

"For now," he replied, removing his friend's boots, "you need to rest. I don't want news of your presence here to spread until you've slept undisturbed for at least a day or two. I'm sure everyone would want to know of your return immediately, but it will not do for you to receive that much attention just yet."

Maedhros nodded. "Very well. I understand."

"Good. Now, get some sleep. And while you rest, I'll tend more closely to your han – to your arm." Fingon covered him with many warm blankets and sighed in relief when his dear cousin finally slept peacefully. He, too, was exhausted and longed to lie down beside his friend as soon as possible, sleeping for hours. But he could no longer neglect the gravest of Maedhros' wounds. Pushing the fatigue to the back of his mind, he began to search the room for fresh bandages and medicines, only to realize very quickly that there were none to be found. He would have to retrieve them from another room in the house.

And though reluctant to leave his cousin unattended even for a short while, he quietly opened the door and crept into the hallway. He found the supplies without incident and was nearly back to his room when he noiselessly turned a corner and bumped into an equally silent Elf. Startled, Fingon jumped back, dropped the supplies he carried in his hands, and froze. It was Fingolfin.

"Fingon!" the older Elf exclaimed, grasping him by the shoulders. For reasons he did not fully understand, Fingon looked away from his father and tried to pull free of his hold, but Fingolfin was by far the stronger of the two, and his grip never lessened. He had ever been the strongest of his people.

"Fingon!" he said again, turning Fingon's shoulders until his son faced him. Fingon kept his eyes on the floor and remained silent. The strong hands clasping his shoulders suddenly released their hold and came up to carefully cradle his face.

"Fingon," the Elven lord repeated once more, his voice softer than before. Gently he raised his son's chin until their eyes were level. Bright tears fell from Fingolfin's eyes as he drew his eldest child close and embraced him in silence for a long moment. Fingon returned the gesture and leaned his head against his father's chest. He fought unsuccessfully to blink back the warm tears that brimmed up in his eyes.

Fingolfin finally broke the silence. "Where have you been?" he spoke softly into his son's ear. "You disappeared without a word to anyone and were gone for nearly two months, Fingon. Where in the name of Elbereth were you?"

Fingon pulled back from his father's arms. "_Atar_…" he began, but words failed him.

Suddenly, Fingolfin noticed the blood stains on his son's clothing and the bandages strewn across the floor.

"Fingon, are you hurt?" he inquired, gazing with intent concern at the younger Elf before him and reaching out a hand as if to steady him.

"No," Fingon quickly allayed his father's fears. "No, I am well. I'm only tired. But, _Atar_, there is something I must show you." He hurriedly gathered up the bandages and led his father the remaining distance to his chambers. Fingolfin stepped through the door, saw Maedhros asleep on the bed, and nodded.

"I suspected your intentions were such," he commented quietly. "That is why I refused to send a search party after you, despite constant pressure from my advisors to do so. For the success of such a mission would have required utter secrecy, and I could not dare risk pursuing you, lest you be exposed. All the same, your sudden absence caused an undesirable amount of commotion here."

"_Atar_, you know full well that if I had made my intentions known beforehand, my quest would never have succeeded. Word of my coming would no doubt have reached Morgoth long before I did, and I would have joined Maedhros rather than rescuing him."

"I understand your reasons for operating in secrecy. But, Fingon, you could have at least informed me of your intentions. I would not have betrayed your confidence to anyone, not even your brother. But you could have at least spared me the agony of such constant worry! And knowing the horrible fate that had just befallen Maedhros, I could not help but fear terribly for you, my son. You could have at least told me!"

"If I had told you," Fingon replied slowly, "if I had told you that I planned to venture alone to Angband, to the very heart of our enemy's great strength, in an attempt to rescue Maedhros, the eldest son of him who left us all to perish in the Helcaraxe – would you truly have let me go?"

At that, Fingolfin snorted softly. "No," he replied simply, "I would not have let you go. In fact, I would have had you confined to these chambers and placed under careful watch until I was certain your mind was rid of such foolish notions!"

"But I could never have just left him there!" Fingon insisted. "You know how close we were back in Valinor, whether you approved of it or not. We were the very best of friends, _Atar_, both of us the oldest sons of the Noldorin princes." His eyes darkened. "Before the Silmarils, that is. Before Morgoth. Before all of this." He gestured with ill-concealed contempt at their surroundings and sat down on the bed, slowly shaking his head.

"Not once did I ever question or disapprove of your friendship with Maedhros," Fingolfin truthfully assured his son, moving to sit beside him. "I was actually surprised when the feud between our families drove even the two of you apart."

"It took a long time," Fingon reminisced. "Our friendship proved more durable than most others, but we still drifted apart over time." He sighed and turned to look at Maedhros. "I can only hope this will set things right between us."

Fingolfin laid a hand on his son's shoulder. "At the very least, I'm certain it will help ease tensions here. We have been on the verge of civil war with Feanor's people ever since our arrival." His eyes grew distant. "Something must change soon, or Morgoth will not need to strike a single blow against us before we are all destroyed. It will require the combined efforts of both hosts if he is to be overthrown, for I have seen the might of Angband and know that it will not fall as easily as we might have supposed." He paused and finally shook his head. "But such things can be discussed later. Shall I inform the others of your return?"

"Please, not yet. We are both exhausted, Maedhros especially. I don't want him to be disturbed by the crowds of people who will no doubt want to see him once they know he's here."

"I agree," Fingolfin said. "But I will need to send an emissary to his brothers immediately. It is only fair that they should know as soon as possible."

"You're right," Fingon agreed, nodding.

Fingolfin smiled and once again wrapped his arms around his son. "I'm glad you're home," he whispered in his ear.

Fingon embraced him in return, gratefully resting his weary head against his father's shoulder. "_Hannon le,_, _Atar_," he replied.

After a moment, Fingolfin rose and gently pushed Fingon onto his back.

"Now, you should get some sleep as well," he commanded. "And do not worry about Maedhros. I will tend to him while you both rest."

Fingon grinned up at him before turning over onto his side. He closed his eyes and was lost instantly in the ethereal realm of sleep.


End file.
